When he hears me enter the room, he lifts his head and I freeze. Grief stands out in sharp relief across his face, and it twists me up inside to see him like this. To see his eyes so full of despair.
I sink down on the bottom step of the staircase, ignoring the blood still coating the floor, and wrap my arms around my knees. I don’t know what to say, or if I should even say anything at all. So, I wait. Seconds tick by, turning into minutes as we stare at one another. I hope he can see how sorry I am. That my eyes can convey what my words have failed to give him.
When a full five minutes passes, he shakes his head and stands up, but he doesn’t go anywhere. He just…stands there. The anger has drained from his body, leaving behind a boy who looks lost and alone. Broken. And I’m responsible for that.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about him sooner,” I say, my words whispered.
“Were you ever going to tell me?” he asks. “If I hadn’t found out today, would you have ever said anything?” His words are equally quiet, as though he’s afraid of the answer.
I push to my feet and move closer to him. “I wanted to tell you the first day I saw you. I had every intention of letting you know right away but…” I bite my lip and Jordy tilts his head back staring at the ceiling. His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows.
“But then you heard about my reputation.”
I exhale a harsh breath.
“And then I finger-fucked you in a classroom. Fuck.”
He reaches out and jerks me to him, wrapping his arms around my shoulders in a fierce embrace that's nearly bruising. “I’m so fucking mad at you for keeping him from me,” he says into my hair, and I tentatively wrap my arms around his waist. I have no idea why he’s holding me like this, but I don’t really care. I need this. Need the contact. I need to feel like things will be okay. That he isn’t going to hate me forever.
“You should have told me.” That growly quality is back in his voice. “I don’t give a fuck about everything else. You should have told me right away.”
“It’s only been—”
He cuts me off, his body vibrating beneath my hold. “A week, Joaninha. It’s been a week that you’ve been here. That’s a week I can’t get back. A week of not knowing I had a son and of him not knowing me. Fuck. He needs me too. He needs his Pack.”
I stiffen, but don’t acknowledge the latter part of his statement. “I’m sorry,” I say instead. If roles were reversed, I’d be upset too. I can’t blame him for that.
“I want to hate you,” he whispers almost too quietly for me to hear, but I do and my heart plummets to the soles of my feet. “And when my head stops spinning and my wolf stops trying to tear his way out of my chest, I just might. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to get over the fact that you kept him from me. I missed so fucking much.” He releases me and takes two steps back.
I feel cold at the loss of contact and wrap my arms around myself.
“I—” I don’t know what to say to that.
“I want to get to know him,” he says, his voice firm. “I want visitation and I want his status as my son official with the Pack. He’s one of ours.”
I swallow hard as a trickle of fear worms its way through me before reason has me locking the emotion away. This is what I want, right? I want my son to have his father. I want him to feel wanted and Jordy demanding visitation is him showing that he wants to be in César’s life. I take a deep breath and force out my next words.
“I’d like you to be a part of his life. To be his dad.”
His eyes widen momentarily before he nods his head. “Okay. Good.” He shoves his hands into his pockets. “When can I have him? All we have to do is present him to my Alpha and—”
I frown. “Wait. What? No…”
But he isn’t listening. “Can I pick him up tomorrow?”
“You want to pick him up?” I ask, licking my lips. “And take him where?”
“To the Southwest Compound.” He says it like it's the obvious answer. But Hell. To. The. No.
“You’re not taking my son.”
He scowls at me.
I don’t even want to get into a discussion about the Pack so I point out the more obvious reasoning for why he can’t just pick up my son and take him. “Have you ever looked after a baby?” I don’t want to fight with him, but there is just no way I’m agreeing to this. “César is only nine months old. He…umm…” I can see Jordy is about to argue so I rush out my next words. “He isn’t like you.”
Jordy’s mouth drops open before he pulls himself together. “What do you mean, he isn’t like me?”
“He’s not a shifter,” I admit. At least, I don’t think he is. I know Zheng said there was still a possibility, and I might have agreed if César wasn’t already exhibiting psyker abilities.
